


Days

by itsaquinnquinnsituation



Series: X Years Later [13]
Category: Newcastle (2008)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:01:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3153230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaquinnquinnsituation/pseuds/itsaquinnquinnsituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Approximately eight and a half to nine years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters or the plot of the original movie belong to me. I am not making money off my work, which is written for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> This is my universe and exactly how I see it. Writing should be enjoyed, not judged.
> 
> Thank you for your support, everyone :). 
> 
> I highly recommend everyone to watch this movie.

On the first day, he decides that he will handle it just fine. 

 

When he gets home from work, he barely wastes any time grabbing a bowl of sunflower seeds – a taste for them he’d acquired from his mother – and climbs with it right onto the bed, fetching his laptop. Fergus would have never let him eat those things anywhere near their bedroom, but now that Fergus wasn’t there, it didn’t really matter anymore, did it? He polishes the whole bowl in under an hour. 

He plays his favourite racing video games with the lads through an online connection – also something he would never otherwise do – simply because normally, he wouldn’t have time, but he lets himself get engrossed in the virtual contest for over three hours, coming to only when his eyes start hurting, and his eyelids get sweaty. Outside, it’s all dark, and in the apartment, quiet. 

He gets up off the bed quietly, like a mouse, and proceeds slowly and cautiously to close the curtains. It’s never this quiet inside and it startles him a bit, so he turns on the telly to play to an empty room, whilst he goes to the kitchen to make himself some tea. He almost never drinks tea outside his mother’s house – he used to earlier, all the time: his mother was, after all, a true European, but Fergus was a coffee person, so at their house, they mostly drank coffee. Andy didn’t mind it, of course. 

He lingers around the house aimlessly for another few minutes, wastes a bit more time on the internet before going in to the shower. Inside the washroom he notices with sadness, that when he’d changed the towels earlier that morning, he’d put in four, per his habit, though he only had to set out two – Fergus was not there to use his.

When he finally gets into bed, he is faced with an immediate problem. It seems foolish to him to stay on his side when he now has the whole bed to himself, but when he moves into the middle, his head lands right in between the pillows and that’s not comfortable at all. He grabs his own pillow and scoots the other one to the side and attempts to fill in the whole bed space with his body, but it’s awkward and he begins twisting and turning. It becomes further apparent to him, that he couldn’t have slept on that mattress for over two years and never noticed how awfully hard and unyielding it was, and yet, he never did. He almost hisses in frustration, before morphing into a ball on his own side and kicking off the covers completely. 

 

Next couple of days are fine, because he doesn’t have to care about washing the dishes or sweeping away the never-ending sand on the floor. He still has a bit of a trouble sleeping but he tries not to mind it. 

Five days later, he finds bits of sunflower seed shells on the bed and has to shake out the linens, deciding that Fergus did have a point in not wanting those things near his place of sleep. 

Six days later, he goes grocery shopping after work and buys Fergus’ favourite yogurt without even thinking about it. When he discovers it in the bag later at home, he presses his lips and shakes his head. Later that night, he eats one. 

Seven days later, he tries to sleep on the couch. He has a hard time staying asleep and has a nightmare, waking up gasping, livingroom furniture made into unusual shapes by the dark. He curses, turns the light on, and lays with his eyes closed for the rest of the night. 

The next day he has off, and it rains. He gets that initial jolt of delight, because if Fergus doesn’t have to work and it’s raining outside, it can only mean one thing, but is quickly let down by the reminder that Fergus is not there. He walks around the house aimlessly, eats another one of Fergus’ yogurts, and calls Fergus’ brother. Jesse is too hungover to come over, but agrees to play video games online. In light of the circumstances, it seems like a fair solution. 

Later that night, he can’t find the t-shirt he usually sleeps in, so he goes to the dresser to get a new one. And just so, entirely involuntarily, his hand moves to the other side of the drawer and grabs one of Fergus’ t-shirts instead. He dons it. He stacks both pillows and sleeps in the middle of the bed. 

Next morning, he again borrows another one of Fergus’ t-shirts to wear. 

 

Nine days later he stays after work to hang out with the lads. By nine o’clock, he gets up, out of habit. Jesse looks at him with surprise: ‘What are you…’ ‘Ah, yeah…’ – Andy nods and sits back down, but he has lost track of the conversation and stays maybe only for an extra-half hour, before heading home on foot. At home, he puts on the kettle and reaches for the tea box, but thinks about it… and makes some decaf coffee instead. 

That night, he sleeps entirely on Fergus’ side of the bed. That night, he manages to get the most sleep of all nights.

Eleven days later, he cleans out the whole apartment, including the obnoxious sand, and sits in the unlit kitchen, looking through the window. He tries playing video games later, but finds himself losing even to Scotty. 

 

Two weeks later, he goes to his mother’s house ‘for a few days.’

She does well in distracting him. She stuffs him silly with good home-made food and puts a very old Polish movie on an ancient VCR, ‘just like the old times.’ The tape even crackles a bit and the image distorts once in awhile. He lays on the couch with his laptop on his stomach and tries very hard to pay attention. 

At some point, he realises she’d been telling him something, because suddenly, she stops, and then says in English:

“Why don’t you go to sleep?”

He looks at her, bewildered, then motions vaguely at his laptop.

“Even if you refresh your inbox every five seconds, it will not change anything. Go to sleep.”

She understands him, of course, but she knows she can’t help him. There’s only so much a mother can do.

 

He goes into his old bedroom and smiles. His mother has always kept it exactly the same, though he hasn’t really stayed there in years since he and Fergus got their own place right after college… But a few odd times since then, both he and Fergus did happen to have stayed the night. Like when they were too tired to drive back. Or when they didn’t feel like making breakfast themselves in the morning. Or when Fergus was so sick that Andy drove him to his mother’s house to feel safer - because she was a nurse – then, they stayed for almost a week and a half, because soon all three were ill with the flu. Or when they were taking Andy’s Mum to a matinee the next day. Or when they just needed a bit of change. Because what’s an old childhood room, once in awhile, you know?

Suddenly, Andy remembers when they were just kids, Fergus still in his punk-gothic stage, both of them laying across the bed in complete darkness, Fergus just staring at the ceiling and unexpectedly breaking the silence by saying out of the blue: ‘When I get my own place, I’m going to hang up some line lights above the bed, to be… you know…. like the stars?!’ Andy snickered then good-naturedly and bit his tongue, almost having said: ‘Yeah, that’d be nice!’ They weren’t quite there yet at that point…. Or were they?

Sixteen days later, he is back at his own place after work. He spends almost an hour repairing the cord and fixing the line lights that have gotten loose – perhaps due to disuse –then turns them on and lays on the bed, staring up at them. He falls asleep and dreams of being with Fergus. 

Eighteen days later, Jesse loses to him in video games almost five times in a row, and Andy gives his laptop screen a crooked smile. Jesse can be a damned terrific friend sometimes. 

Twenty days later he finally bothers to do laundry again and realises that the basket is full of Fergus’ clothes. 

 

 

Three weeks later, he runs into Jesse on the beach. Or rather, Jesse runs into him, accidentally. Andy is sitting on the edge of the dock and Jesse, apparently, recognises him from afar, and walks over to greet him.

“What are you doing here?” – Jesse asks. 

Andy looks around, but there’s nothing in the surrounding darkness to use as his reason.

“Didn’t you text me that you were going to your Mum’s? I mean, Nathan was asking…”

Andy stares at him with a blank expression, then manages:

“Did I?”

They look at each other in silence for a good minute, and Andy finally gestures:

“Sorry. S-sorry, I think I… may have gotten distracted.”

Jesse nods and they are silent again, until Andy resignedly adds:

“It’s probably ridiculous, but I just can’t… I can’t function without him.”

That night he lays on Fergus’s side of the bed again, looks at the line lights, and doesn’t sleep at all. Just dreams, lucidly.

 

And twenty three days later is the last day. He is so fidgety and jittery in the morning on the beach, that Scotty rolls his eyes, Nathan laughs, and only Jesse offers to take over his work shift and almost forcibly sends him home. Andy knocks about straightening out the place, looking at the clock every few minutes. Finally, he gets in the car and tries very hard not to speed. 

When he gets there, he just waits. An hour, two hours go by. Normally, he’d be annoyed, probably, but this time, he is hardly disturbed. He waits patiently for the goddamn billboard to refresh. 

And then it’s announced, instead. He jumps up. Waits a little again. When people start coming out, he doesn’t even blink. 

When he sees Fergus, his heart does a backflip and he almost runs, only his nerves have long since gotten the better of him, and his legs shake a little, as he walks at a very brisk pace. Fergus finally notices him as well and begins walking faster too, weak smile stretching on an exhausted pale face. And seeing that smile gives Andy the strength to finally run. 

He almost crashes into him, barely stopping himself to just grab him into a hug instead, Fergus dropping the handle of his luggage right there on the floor and ghosting his hands gingerly on Andy’s waist. Andy’s all beside himself, however, burying his face into Fergus’ neck, indifferent and oblivious to what the other airport guests might be thinking. Fergus presses a couple of light kisses into Andy’s hair and then whispers a sigh into his ear:

“Please, take me home.”

Andy then releases him just as briskly, wipes off his face and grabs for Fergus’ luggage. He almost runs to the car, Fergus barely keeping pace. 

Only at the car he truly appreciates the extent of his partner’s exhaustion, when, after they finish loading the suitcases into the trunk, Fergus immediately flops into the passenger seat. He is always the one to drive when it’s the two of them – something Andy not only forgives him for, but secretly loves – but just then, Andy happily takes over the wheel. 

On the way home, they make a bit of a talk – just a courtesy thing from Fergus that Andy neither requests nor requires:

“Can’t believe I’m finally here…”

“So how was it?”

“Awful. I’m never flying through India again! I can’t believe I had to sit in that airport for almost six hours, and all - why? Because I was late to the boarding call by some twenty minutes! I’m going to murder whoever had booked my flight! It’s like - you *have to* be a complete idiot for our company to hire you as an admin! Ugh – sorry” – He waives his hand, - “Sorry that you had to wait – it’s like on top of it, the last plane *had* to be delayed as well! Oh god… I am so tired…. sorry…”

It’s like the last of his strength goes out of him in that one tirade, and he slumps into his seat, face almost ashen. Andy wants so much to press his foot into the gas and fly over the freeway right through the cloudy sky, but instead, only nods and mumbles:

“That’s alright.”

Fergus closes his eyes and remains quiet for the rest of the trip. 

 

When they get home, Andy unloads the suitcases faster than the speed of light before Fergus even makes it over the threshold - and after he does, Fergus stops, and with as much of a smile as he can master, beckons Andy with his hand. Andy comes over and Fergus leans into him, putting his face into the crook of his neck:

“I could fall asleep right here.”

Andy chuckles quietly, thinking of all the twenty-two nights he struggled to sleep on that goddamned awful hard mattress, all the twenty-two nights he had nothing but an emailed ‘goodnight’ from his lover, all the twenty-two nights he had to do with only imagining his warmth. And he wants to tell him all about it, really, and to maybe complain a little – was his schedule really so busy not to email just a wee bit more often? after all, negotiating deals with some high-end clients in Europe is nothing like being left in Newcastle alone - and to maybe even beg him to never – ever – ever! - even think of being gone for that long … but aloud, he asks:

“Are you hungry?”

“Nah” – Fergus meows and slowly disconnects, - “I’m just going to hop in the shower. Will you make me some tea?”

‘Tea?’ – Andy thinks to himself with a smile, putting on the kettle. He fetches Fergus’ sleepwear and draws the curtains closed in the bedroom.

After some twenty minutes, however, and with his hair all wet and sticking in every direction, Fergus has long since forgotten about the kettle, he walks into the bedroom, swaying, and falls on the bed onto his back. Andy follows and stops next to him like a puppy.

“My neck hurts so bad…” – Fergus moans, pulling onto the covers. Andy fixes them, and Fergus catches his hand, giving it a light squeeze. 

Just before leaving the room to let him rest, Andy considers it. And once again, remembers all the twenty-two nights. 

Then he slips out of his cargo shorts and his hoodie, and slides under the covers as well. With a very habitual move, he moulds himself into Fergus’ side, placing his head on Fergus’ bicep, snaking his arm across his chest, tangling their legs, and, finally, sighs. Fergus puts his own hand gingerly over Andy’s and whispers softly:

“Thank you…”

And it’s only some seven o’clock, and it’s not even dark outside, and the kettle is standing still warm in the kitchen, and Andy doesn’t even want to sleep, not at all, but just then, he also realises, that there’s nothing wrong with the mattress, and in fact, he feels so comfortable and safe, that he falls asleep within mere minutes, his chest starting to rise and fall in unison with his partner’s. And that night, they don’t have to dream about being with each other – because that night they, finally, are.


End file.
